


neon ballroom (open fire)

by feyrelay



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Dom/sub Undertones, Eating Disorders, Flash Fic, Hair-pulling, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Prompt Fill, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 12:09:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16912611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feyrelay/pseuds/feyrelay
Summary: A short two-shot based on a prompt from LeafyGreenQueen773.Trigger Warning: eating disorders and proana internet cultureAlso, Peter is underage.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LeafyGreenQueen773](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeafyGreenQueen773/gifts).



Karen has got to go. Or at least, be patched into backing off.

That’s what Peter tells Mr. Stark, that’s what Peter pleads for. He makes up some embarrassing shit about her always flagging the little cuts from shaving and from acne as injuries. He tells Mr. Stark that he feels weird with her awareness literally monitoring his body via the suit molded to it. He tells Mr. Stark it’s pervy and weird and invasive, and that if Karen isn’t adjusted then he’ll go back to wearing his home-made suit.

The thought of giving up the high-tech suit again makes bile burn the back of his throat, but that’s nothing new. He knows he’s being awful, ungrateful, and deceptive, but Peter just adds those to the already long list of his shortcomings. He can make up for it later. (Eight hundred minus two hundred is six hundred.)

\---

A week later, right in the middle of dinner, a courier knocks on the door and Peter shoots from his seat to answer it, away from the grisly mess on his plate. He’s been pushing the food around for ten minutes anyway, and May’s no great shakes as a cook.

The courier delivers a tiny box and inside, nestled in foam, is a tiny peach-colored earbud. The letters on it are even tinier still, stamped silver along the edge of the device.

The thing’s name is Karen 2.0, apparently, but Peter sees nothing but an excuse to go and hide in his room. He puts the tech back in its box and grabs his plate, shoving the slop down the garbage disposal before May can protest or he can lose his nerve. He pours a slash of dish soap down after it, and doesn’t know why. (He’d only eaten maybe three ounces of the peas and two of the ham, so seven-twenty minus one-sixty is five hundred and sixty left. Minus another two hundred for the lie he’s about to tell, makes it three hundred and sixty remaining.)

“Gotta go work on this, Aunt May; it’s for the Stark Internship!” he calls over his shoulder.

“Okay… did you get enough dinner, sweetie?” comes her uncertain response.

“Yeah, plenty! I’m stuffed!” Peter says, and closes his door. (Three-sixty, that’s nine whole rice cakes!)

Finally. Alone.

He’s cold, so Peter gets under the covers of his bed and decides to snuggle up with his phone. Karen 2.0 and her storage box make their home on his nightstand. He logs into the message boards and checks the top threads in each subcategory for something to read. As usual, he ends up in the section ‘For Guys’ even though there’s only like three of them on the boards. Most of the members of Red Rope are girls.

The thread is from a new member, username ‘drunkorexic’, and all the title of the opening post says is ‘How did it start for you, man’. The body of the post is a single question mark.

Peter hits reply and starts typing. He always likes to try and connect with new members.

“It started for me when I started gaining muscle out of nowhere. Uh, kinda hit a second puberty, I guess. I was hungry _all the time_ ; I wanted to eat like a body builder and there was never enough food. My family isn’t exactly rich, and I just felt so guilty. I didn’t want to put more stress on my-”

Peter backspaces and deletes the word ‘aunt’. He replaces it with ‘mom’, not wanting to give too much of himself away. Besides, it’s nice to pretend.

“… mom. Anyway, I like science so I looked up exactly how much food I needed to survive and I was shocked at the mathematical orderliness of it. It’s so easy to control right? Calories in, calories out. Just numbers. I started to play with the numbers, and I looked up BMR and BMI calculators and got a little ‘fixated’ you could say. I started wondering what the numbers would look like if I wanted to lose and not just maintain, started playing with them, started planning how many calories I could cut and what I could eat that would still get me enough vitamins and minerals and all that. You probably know the rest.”

He hits ‘post’ and waits. Anxiously, he re-reads what he wrote, checking for typos or unintended double meanings. He looks to the side and notices that his account ‘urneighbor’ is now listed as an ‘Expert Contributor’ for the forums, instead of ‘Frequent Contributor’. His post must have bumped him to the next forum level.

Peter sets down his phone, suddenly tired. Who knows when the new guy will reply anyway? He slips Karen II into his ear and greets her.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Peter. What can I help you with?” the AI returns.

“Uh, nothing really, except can you stream music?” Peter ventures.

“If I pair with your phone, then of course, Peter. What would you like to listen to?” she asks.

“Hmmm. Have you ever heard of this really old band called Silverchair?”

\---

Peter wonders if this is how Daredevil feels.

It’s _almost_ Catholic, the way Peter just keeps sinning and keeps hurting those around him and knows he can atone later, for the low, low price of two hundred calories a piece.

It’s too easy to push Ned away, to say he’s busy trying to prove himself after having regained the Stark Internship. That way he doesn’t have to worry about entertaining a friend who is always hungry and, somehow, always enjoys May’s dubious cooking. (Minus 200 for the lie, minus 200 for being a shit friend.)

It’s a little harder to tell MJ that she reminds him too much of Liz and that he needs his space. He says it’s because he met them both through AcaDec and they’re both geniuses. The truth is he knows MJ is too hard to keep a secret from. It’s only hours later that he realizes he might have hurt MJ’s feelings by implying she’s the same as Liz due to their shared skin color. (Minus 200 for the lie and another 200 for the casual racism.)

And just like that, Peter’s used up all of his 800 kcals for the day. Oh well, he’s been hankering to do a water fast for a while now. Maybe he can break his plateau and reach his second goal weight of 130 lbs. That would give him a BMI of 20, and the nice, round numbers make something settle in Peter’s brain.

\---

The fast helps, and Peter decides to run through the ABC diet over the next eight weeks. He likes the results he got from the water fast and his scientific mind recognizes that he needs to switch things up if Peter’s going to trick his metabolism into not plateauing out on him. He makes it to week four before his hair starts to go brittle.

It’s fine, it really is. He logs into Red Rope every day and gets support on his quest to complete the bootcamp. He’s already hit 120 lbs and he feels good that he’s one of the few forum members that is actually hitting their goal weights. Most of his friends on there, especially the girls, have a much harder time. Peter hears constantly about the bloating they’re experiencing, and the binging which starts a vicious cycle, but not him. Of course, the bite has given him a distinct metabolic advantage, but he still feels a little superior.

However, when he asks about his hair, none of them are much help. The other members who have dropped below 20 on their BMI mostly had hair fall out, not just get brittle. Peter wonders if it’s a part of his healing, that maybe he physically _can’t_ develop alopecia like everyone else, and it makes him… mad?

Why can’t he be like everyone else for once?

Why does he always have to be different?

Peter heads to the ‘For Guys’ section of the forums again, and asks those very questions. He’s just venting and is about to delete the pity-party thread when drunkorexic sends him a chat through the messaging feature.

drunkorexic: hey man, r u ok?

urneighbor: yeah, just frustrated about my hair, even though I know ‘vanity is a sin’

drunkorexic: oh, i saw that post 2. do u use conditioner?

urneighbor: ya, but i might need to get a better kind than the one from the dollar store

drunkorexic: did ur gf complain or smth?

urneighbor: what? haha no, don’t have one

drunkorexic: r u gay? i though all that stuff about being different, idk

And then another message, before Peter can reply.

drunkorexic: sorry. i kno that’s personal, just a lot of queer dudes have ana or mia

Peter ponders that for a while, not seeing his phone in front of him. Is he ‘queer’? No, he doesn’t think so. Maybe? He doesn’t know, but he does know this is the first time he’s been confronted with the high level of intersectionality between gay men and eating disorders. I mean, he’s pretty sure some of his other guy friends on Red Rope are gay, although some of them are straight too. Hmmm.

Also, is it just him or is this guy trying too hard with the abbreviations and textspeak? It’s like watching a dog walk on its hind legs.

urneighbor: idk if I’m queer. but, i’m kinda obsessed with this guy i kinda work with

urneighbor: does that count?

drunkorexic: older? younger? straight? dish it, kid

urneighbor: uh like 30 yrs older and prolly straight? has a fiancée

Peter waits while his chat partner digests that.

drunkorexic: ok, ur fucked. forget him and date someone from school.

LMAO. Peter doesn’t know what to say to that at all, so he just tries to diffuse the situation with humor.

urneighbor: ew, no i don’t want that. my hair will crack off in their hands, remember? plus, where would i go on a date? not a restaurant, ya know?

drunkorexic: fine, up to u. see u later, neighbor

urneighbor: bye drunkie. thanks for the chat

\---

Peter’s juice-fasting and too hungry to be puzzled when, a week later, Mr. Stark pawns off a basket of skin stuff and haircare samples on him. They smell like cucumbers and the shampoo and conditioner are marked ‘for brittle or damaged hair’.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Get out those tissues, friends. Although the title for this short flashfic comes from the song 'Please Die, Ana' by Silverchair, the official song for this story is definitely 'The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot' by Brand New. If you've never heard that masterpiece, then honestly I feel sorry for you.

Peter can’t get back on track.

During spring break, Mr. Stark has surgery to re-attach a reactor to power his suit, and Peter stress-binges the entire time. It’s so much that he can’t just restrict the excess the next day to catch up, not unless he wants to fast for two weeks. Peter considers it, but the scientific part of his mind and the reasonable part of his soul, like David up against his Goliath guilt, win out.

All in all, Peter gains six pounds, most of which is water weight from increased salt intake.

He gives up on ABC and feels like a failure. There are five days of spring break left and Ms. Potts has asked him to stay with Mr. Stark at the compound because she’s been called to Wakanda to report on the surgery. Five days is perfect to complete a 24680 cycle, and once again the providence of the numbers lining up so neatly blossoms in Peter’s mind like a daisy. It’s nice when things work out like that.

Peter joins a diet cohort on Red Rope and on Wednesday intends to only eat two “sandwiches” and a rice cake. Peter makes his sandwiches with half a slice of wheat bread, half a slice of beef bologna and a dab of mustard. They’re eighty calories a piece, but they satisfy some familiar need in his brain that burns right through his hunger. He thinks maybe his mom made him bologna sandwiches as a kid.

He eats the tiny fold of bread and meat by taking a multitude of even tinier bites. (Death by a thousand cuts.)

Having stalled as long as he can, Peter goes in to visit Mr. Stark in his room. Although the advanced surgery techniques and technology used to implant the triangular reactor mean that the recovery time should be limited, Mr. Stark still needs to take it easy for a few days.

“Hey, kid,” the older man greets him as he puts down his book.

“Hi, Mr. Stark. What are you reading?” Peter asks, before he clocks the odd cover of the book. It’s a paperback copy of something about Nordic Rune Magic. Peter quirks an eyebrow at the man in the bed.

Mr. Stark quirks one right back. “What? I’m not a completely ridiculous person, Peter, but I’ve seen what Thor and Wanda can do; magic exists and aliens do too. It’s worth a shot.”

“I guess,” Peter allows, “…but this is more what I’d expect out of MJ than you, sir.” Peter pages through the front of the book before flipping to where a scrap of paper, filled with scribbles, is keeping Mr. Stark’s place for him.

The spike in his blood sugar from having that sandwich on an empty stomach is making Peter woozy. However, he focuses hard on the pages in front of him. The runes settle, and then the English does too.

“Spell to Heal a Loved One,” he reads, and then notices the left-hand page details the runes needed for physical healing, while the right lists the symbols for mental healing. In the margin is a question in pencil, what if it’s both?

Peter looks up.

“What’s wrong with Ms. Potts?” he asks, alarmed. If a woman whose calves look like _that_ in heels, and whose waist nips in just so in her sheath dresses, can’t be happy… then there’s no hope for Peter.

Mr. Stark regards him quietly. “Nothing is wrong with Pepper.”

Oh. Peter’s eyes scan the words ‘loved one’ again and he says, “Are you cheating on her, then?”

Now why did he go and say that?

“No, I wouldn’t do that,” Mr. Stark replies firmly, tilting his chin down so he can watch Peter’s face over his reading glasses.

Huh.

“Natasha told me you almost went for her, when she had you as a mark years ago,” Peter counters.

Why can’t he let this go? He doesn’t even _have_ the 200 calories to pay for the sin of backtalk.

“Almost isn’t the same as doing something, and I resent your implication that it is.”

Peter shivers at the words, and Mr. Stark’s eyes soften. “Here kid, your punishment can be drinking a bottle of this stuff they’ve given me. It’s supposedly chocolate-flavored but I think just chalk is more accurate… maybe they said ‘chalk’ and I just added the rest of the syllables on? Alternative facts and all.”

Peter sets the book aside and takes the proffered bottle of nutritional drink; he tries not to immediately look for the nutrition facts on the back. He weighs the bottle in his hands, stalls, and says, “Why do you have to drink this?”

“The docs don’t want me putting too much strain on my esophagus, since it’s so near where the healing is going on, and god forbid I choke on solid foods. The coughing would probably tear the reactor out of my chest.”

Peter wonders how much the glowing triangle weighs.

“You’re lucky they didn’t give you a feeding tube,” he says.

Mr. Stark rolls his eyes and Peter uses the opportunity to check the calories on the back of the bottle of Ensure. (It’s three-fifty, fuck his life.)

“Yeah, I’d like to see them try,” the older man gripes, missing the way Peter wilts. “But, I guess, it’s really a first-world problem. At least we won’t go hungry, right, Pete?”

“Right,” he breathes, anxious. Mr. Stark is watching him again. This is the worst. He unscrews the cap of the bottle and his enhanced senses pick up every plastic perforation as it snaps and severs the blue cap from the sealing ring. He brings the bottle to his sealed mouth, lets the liquid lap against his lips, and swallows spit to complete the illusion. Peter licks the small amount of chocolate-y residue from his mouth as he meets Mr. Stark’s eyes. (He can just do some extra jumping jacks later, or something.)

“Feel better, kid?”

What the fuck is going on here?

“Yeah,” Peter lies easily, “… aren’t you going to drink yours?”

Mr. Stark starts on his bottle, eyes still sharp, and Pete uses the opportunity to set his own drink aside, and then a flash of brilliance sees him ‘clumsily’ knock it to the floor. Peter likes the slash of milky brown against the white tile of the recovery room. It itches like the first ink on a new and lovely blank page.

Stark snorts and wipes his mouth, saying, “Okay, sweetheart, how long are we going to play this game?”

Peter freezes, and not just his blood.

“What game?”

And then, in the face of the older man’s silence, “I’m fine!”

“No, you’re not,” Stark insists on a sigh. He reaches out for Peter’s wrist and his thick, strong fingers circle round easily. The grip feels like a manacle.

Why does Peter like it?

He wrenches his hand away at that thought and flees, knowing Mr. Stark can’t follow him just now. Peter doesn’t stop to clean up the mess of the spilt bottle on the floor, and doesn’t notice the smeared, Sharpie’d letters on the bottom of his bottle. He doesn’t notice the black shapes of the man’s handwriting rising into the ancient, angular runes that form words of power… words of love.

\---

Peter successfully avoids Tony’s room for the rest of the day, and all of the next, before his guilt overwhelms him. Although Pete is far from the only person monitoring Mr. Stark’s recovery, he knows Ms. Potts wanted him there specifically to help keep the frenetic man sane and occupied. On Friday, he pokes his head in the make sure the older man isn’t sleeping, steels himself at the sight of Stark sitting upright in bed, and then enters.

Peter has saved all of his 600 calories for today, hopeful that he can limit himself to only three lies.

The first thing he says is, “I’m sorry I ran out on you the other day, sir.” (This is true.)

Stark swipes through the air and the schematic floating in front of him vanishes. Peter would have liked to have kept the ephemeral barrier between them, but there’s nothing for it.

“It’s okay, kid. I shouldn’t have sprung the intervention on you like that,” Stark replies. (Also true.)

Peter scoots closer into Mr. Stark’s side, thinking that his penchant for looking innocent and needy might be the only thing that gets him out of this conversation alive.

“Are you mad at me?” he asks, and manages to make his voice waver just right.

Mr. Stark reaches out to ruffle Peter’s hair and gets a bit stuck. The brittleness has gone, but the split ends and corresponding tangles remain. “No, Pete. I’m just worried about you,” he says distractedly.

He goes to remove his hands from the kid’s hair, but Peter stops him by leaning further into the man’s space. “How did you know?” Peter asks, breath fanning out over Stark’s face.

“I know what an addict looks like, from the mirror. Doesn’t matter if it’s alcohol, drugs, or the proverbial unbearable lightness of being Peter Parker. Addiction is addiction,” Mr. Stark explains.

Peter chews on that and wonders if he just got compared to Portia de Rossi. Honestly, he doesn’t mind.

“Also, I’m a scientist and your breath smells fruity. You’re in ketosis,” Stark adds.

Peter slumps at that, letting the other man’s fingers pull in his hair. He welcomes the sting in his scalp and holds Mr. Stark’s hand there. Into the blankets, Peter grumbles, “I thought you might have used Karen, both versions, to watch my browsing history on my phone and join the forums I use.”

“Oh, yeah, I did that too,” Stark admits, and pulls on Peter’s strands until his head tips back up, throat exposed. Peter swallows around nothing and his dick is hard, just like that. It’s been an age since that happened last.

“Why?” he manages, voice rough.

Mr. Stark lets him go and tilts his head to answer, “Because I knew you needed me to.”

Peter blows out a big breath at that, deflating, and feels compelled to give his own confession, “I’ve been manipulating you, sir, just like May and Ned and MJ. All I really want is to leave this room so I can go drink a quart of ice water and burn some more calories. I’ll say anything, do anything.”

“So will I, to keep you from disappearing.”

\---

The thing is, months later and after his birthday, weeks into his junior year and with more of his weight back under Stark’s watchful gaze, well…

Peter disappears anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it, Leafy! I might do more in this 'verse one day.


End file.
